Like A Thief (You Stole My Heart)
by Kandakicksass
Summary: Harry Styles gets mugged by a car thief whose face he never saw, but luckily, Louis Tomlinson moves into his apartment building and is perfectly happy to distract him and help him move on. Louis is incredible, but there's something off about his new boyfriend, and he intends to find out what. Thief!AU, Larry Stylinson.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This was actually a request from LivingfortheWrite04 over on Wattpad, who is a dear, dear friend of mine (otherwise this probably wouldn't be happening, because my schedule is CRAZY). Thank her for it! I know this chapter is short, but it's more of an intro. The next chapter will be longer. :)**

Harry watched as his boss glanced at Harry, then the clock, before finally electing to give the boy a dirty look. The customer in front of Harry – a regular, and currently one of two in the entire bar – gave him an impish grin.

"Working overtime again, Harry? Nick's going to give you hell."

Harry laughed. "Nickie just worries about me getting enough sleep, Sandy. He can deal with me staying late," he answered, taking the woman's empty glass.

"Seems you work late every night, Harry," she chuckled, the sound echoing a bit in the nearly empty room.

"Seems like you spend too much time here," he retorted, chuckling when she rolled her eyes. "Ah, don't give me that look. You've got work tomorrow."

Sandy rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I'm twenty years your senior and you're giving me lectures on being responsible? You're barely an adult."

"I've been legal for three years," he protested. "I'm not a kid! Done uni and everything."

His pout didn't seem to be winning him any points. Sandy appeared very much unimpressed. "You did two years of uni and took a break to work in a bar. Two years of uni does not a master's make." He grumbled as he cleaned her glass, handing her a new one filled with sparkling water, and her expression softened. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. You did what was right for you."

"I don't even know how you know all that about me," Harry grumbled. She just snickered at him and took a sip of her water, less enthusiastic than she was with her scotch. "That's creepy, Sandy. Really creepy."

"I've seen you nearly every night since you started working here," she answered with a raised eyebrow. "You learn things about a guy – especially in a bar. Like I know you prefer briefs over boxers. And Nick has a pink thong."

"Oi!"

Harry had been wondering how long it would take for Nick to interrupt them, and laughed at his pink cheeks. "Aww, Nickie. That's adorable."

"Shut it, Styles," Nick growled, pointing at Sandy. "And you! Keep your mouth shut and your x-ray eyes elsewhere, got it?" She just leaned back in her bar stool and grinned smugly. "Stop looking at me like that."

She raised her hands defensively, but her smirk persisted and Nick sighed, giving up.

"I don't know why I keep you lot around," he muttered, and Harry laughed.

"You love us," he teased.

"Also, you get money out of me, so it's not like you're kicking me out any time soon," Sandy added cheerfully. "Not like you're swimming in customers tonight anyway."

Harry frowned, looking around. "Y'know, it is kind of dead tonight," he agreed, leaning over the bar and giving the room a once-over. "S'weird." There was only Sandy, and some guy in the far corner, nursing a beer and looking suitably melancholy. Well, Harry assumed he was melancholy – he was sitting alone with his collar up to hide his face. Harry only did that when he was making an effort not to be seen in public. Funny, though – the guy looked young enough. He couldn't fathom why he was here by himself, or not moping at the bar like most people.

"Not weird," Nick grumbled in disagreement, pulling Harry from his momentary distraction. "Just bad for business. Fate hates me and wants my bar to go under." He continued to mumble to himself as he wiped down the counter, volume raising with the rhythmic wax-on-wax-off motion of the rag. Sandy and Harry traded glances. _Pathetic, _Harry mouthed. _Indubitably_, Sandy agreed solemnly.

"Nick," Sandy said complacently. "I think it's time you took some time off."

Harry almost snorted outright. "Like that's gonna happen. Nick is more attached to the bar than he is to his dick." He blinked innocently in the face of Nick's glare. "Did I say that out loud?"

He gave up, bursting into loud guffaws when Nick tossed the cleaning rag at him, scowling.

"You really are too attached, Nick," Sandy continued, ignoring their minor spat. "I'm just saying. You and Harry both work too much. It's hypocritical to harass Harry for working overtime when you're always here."

Nick groaned, leaning against the bar and pouting at her. "I didn't even want to work here, you know? I wanted to be a radio host. Then I got this sodding job and the owner left the place to me! What was I supposed to do? Sell it?"

Sandy raised her eyebrow, unimpressed with his plight. "Yes." He gaped at her, looking a little surprised. She huffed, rolling her eyes. "Grimshaw, don't act like you hate the place. It's practically your baby, even if you didn't really want it at first. Now quit your whining and get back to work."

Nick couldn't help but laugh, leaning down to pick the rag up from the floor. "All right; thanks for the pep talk. Speaking of work, will you please get out of here, Harry?"

"But I'm _working_, Grimmy," he answered sweetly. Nick had the half-amused, half-unimpressed look down pat when it came to Harry. He thought absently to give the man an award.

"Your shift ended twenty minutes ago," Nick replied, eyebrow raised. "I think I can cover Sandy tonight; I don't have the money to be paying you all this overtime." He sounded stern, but Harry just giggled at his tone.

"Have I ever asked for extra pay? I make enough between this and the diner."

"Yeah, because you never leave!" When both Harry and Sandy laughed at him, he sighed. "I give up. You two are both against me! Get out of here or I'm sacking you, Styles."

"All right! All right. I'm packing up, jeez. _Mom_." He grabbed his coat and hopped over the counter, causing Nick to let out a yell, only to have Harry snicker at him.

"Why the fuck do I even keep you around?" Nick snorted, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Harry pouted as he rolled down his sleeves, slinging his coat over his shoulders. "So mean to me, Nick. See if I come to work tomorrow." He grinned when Nick rolled his eyes and reached over the counter to smack him upside the head.

"Had enough of your shit," Nick grumbled, but he was chuckling again. "You'll show up; I'm not worried about that."

"One day I'm not even going to," Harry teased. "You'll sit around wondering where I am and I won't even turn up."

Nick scoffed, swatting at him with a towel. "Just get out, would you? Those curls don't earn me more money just for being here, in spite of what you told me when I interviewed you for the job."

Harry snorted, pulling his scarf from his coat pocket and curling it around his neck. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? I'll make sure to be extra curly. I'll show you the power of the hair one of these days, Nick."

Nick laughed loudly. "Hah! Whatever, Styles. The only thing that hair gets you is girls' phone numbers, and you're not even into girls!"

"Neither are you! Don't be a dick," he called over his shoulder as he opened the side door, stepping through. "See you tomorrow, Nick!"

"Later!"

It was several degrees colder than it had been when Harry had taken a couple boxes out to the trash earlier and he wrapped his jacket tighter around his torso, frowning. He jogged toward his car, his brown suede boots clacking on the concrete.

"Hey, Harry!"

Sandy was jogging after him, waving lightly. "Yeah?" he asked, tucking his hands into his pockets. "You gonna be okay to drive home?"

She patted him fondly on the cheek when she reached him. "I'll be fine; haven't drunk much tonight. I just wanted to make sure _you _were okay. Nick's right about you working too hard." He found himself grinning stupidly at her, dimples out in full force. It always surprised him when people cared enough to worry about him, even if they were just customers. To be honest, that was his favorite part about living in a small town; everyone knew everyone. It felt like being a _part _of something.

"Yeah, 'm okay. Thanks, though." He gave her a hug and she nodded.

"Tell your mum hi for me, okay?" Sandy asked, pulling back.

"Will do. Drive safe!"

Just to be careful, he waited until she was rolling onto the street to turn back to his car and prepare to leave. The car itself wasn't anything fancy; several years old and a desperate need for a new battery, but it was his and it looked quite pretty. He was proud of it and of every dollar he had put into it. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, grimacing when the air chilled his fingers.

His keys were halfway into the lock when he heard someone's voice calling out in the darkness from a few feet away.

"Oi, mate!"

He had only just turned to catch sight of brown fringe and bright eyes when a hand reached out and slammed his head back into the frame of the car.

Hard.

His eyes slipped shut to the same voice muttering, "Sorry, mate."

* * *

"Shit." Louis examined the kid he'd just knocked out. "I really can't have – shit, just show me you're alive. Come on." Guilt twisted his stomach into knots.

The kid – head full of curly hair and a baby face, but had to be twenty-one at least to be working at Grimmy's – didn't stir, but Louis could see him breathing steadily. He felt bad about assaulting the kid, but he already had a buyer for a car that had fallen apart, and he needed to replace it fast. He'd only stopped at the bar because one of the few cars left in the lot was identical to the one that went kaput, so he'd gone inside and waited in the corner to try and figure out whose car it was. He _really _didn't want to hotwire the damn thing; he'd just wanted to see if he could sneak the keys.

Louis had taken longer to catch up than he thought he would though, and the kid – Harry – had been in the process of unlocking the car. He knew it would be near impossible to get the keys and the car if the kid was already inside of it. He'd panicked, calling out to him, anything to get him to pause – clearly not thinking it through because he was even more panicked when the barista went to turn around. He hadn't _actually_ meant to knock the kid out, after all.

To be honest, he'd spent the night giving him half-glances out of the corner of his eye, taking care to ensure his face wasn't seen in its entirety. The kid was cute, after all – curly brown hair and bright green eyes. A nice laugh, he'd noticed. In any other situation, Louis would have been chatting him up like mad, pulling out all the stops. A sweet-faced kid like that deserved to be flirted with every once and a while, and Louis would have been a very willing volunteer.

Of course it ended up like this. His timing was absolute shit, after all. "Sorry," he muttered, searching the kid's pockets. He finally found what he was looking for in the boy's back pocket, accidentally groping him a bit (_"What kind of deviant am I? Molesting people before I steal from them? Awesome, Tomlinson. Moving up in the world.")._ He grimaced at his own thoughts.

He flipped through the kid's wallet – black leather, very classy. He checked the kid's license in curiosity – he'd heard the kid called by name multiple times in the bar, but he wasn't sure if 'Styles' was a nickname, or his actual last name. Turns out, it was legitimate, and he raised his eyebrows. "Harry Styles." He murmured the name under his breath to get a feel for it. "Suits you." He debated just taking the wallet, but instead pulled out the fifty pounds inside and tucked it into the kid's coat pocket.

"Mm."

He froze, but Harry didn't make another sound, just grimaced slightly. His eyes didn't open.

He hurriedly moved the unconscious kid to the side so he wouldn't get run over. Stupidly, he felt the urge to press a kiss to Harry's forehead. He turned to unlock the car instead, slipping inside.

By the time one of Harry's coworkers came out to find him, eyelids fluttering and groaning weakly, Louis and the car were long gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: FYI guys I wrote most of this chapter while watching Whose Line is it Anyway, so…**

"My head hurts."

Nick glared at him as he handed over the ice pack he'd left on the counter inside the bar. Harry took it up in relief and pressed it to the back of his head, hissing at the frigid ice pressed to his skin. He'd gotten it during his brief 2 AM emergency room visit, and he was pretty sure it was becoming his new best friend. "Yeah," Nick told him. "It would, wouldn't it? Idiot."

"How am I an idiot?" he whined. "I'm the victim. I got mugged!" Did getting his car stolen count as part of the mugging or was that something different? His headache was too intense for him to think about it too hard.

The police officer who had responded to Nick's call came back over from the table he'd been sitting at to jot down notes and patted Harry lightly on the shoulder. "All right, I think I have everything I need. I can't promise that anything'll come up, but we'll do a bit of digging. This isn't the first car theft in this area."

"Thanks," he sighed. Damn. He had no idea how he was going to get another car – how was he even going to get to work? He didn't have the money for a long-term rental and at the moment he certainly didn't have enough for a new car altogether.

The officer left, and Nick led him past the counter and upstairs to his flat. He sat him on the couch and plopped down next to him, arms folded, expression deeply unimpressed. "You got mugged."

"I'm aware," Harry muttered, shifting to get comfortable. "And I've got a concussion. See?" Even though he couldn't exactly show Nick evidence of how concussed he was, he still took the ice pack off and bared his head. "I don't know how I'm getting home," he added softly. He curled into himself, resting his head on the arm of the couch.

Nick let out a long sigh, seemingly relaxing a bit. "Well, you're not tonight. You are staying here, on the couch, and Niall'll pick you up tomorrow. You can call the diner in the morning; you're definitely not going in tomorrow."

"Nick," he started to protest, but Nick fixed him with a firm, no-nonsense glare and he quieted. "All right." Then, "Thanks for calling him."

Nick glanced down at him, his eyes warmer. "Yeah, whatever. Pisspot. You're just lucky I got so used to your crazy accidents that I kept his number."

Harry tilted his head to meet Nick's gaze. "Whatever, Nickie. You just don't want to admit that you think he's funny. We're mates. All three of us, mates."

"Whatever," Nick repeated, but a smile was quirking his lips upward.

"I do appreciate it, though," he continued, though his words were starting to slur as his eyelids drooped. "You're a good mate."

"Quit saying the word mate," Nick snorted, but he was getting up and rearranging Harry into a comfortable horizontal position in spite of his tone. He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered his lanky body with it. "Get some sleep, Harry. And I don't want to see you in here tomorrow. Go back to work on Tuesday."

"Fine," Harry mumbled, but he couldn't work up the energy to pout properly.

"Night, dear Harold."

"Night…"

* * *

He woke aching but mostly lucid. Nick was puttering around in the kitchen, only a few feet away, and he winced as he forced himself into a sitting position to greet him. "Tell me you're making food."

Nick looked over at him over his shoulder. "Luckily for you, I was hungry. Come sit down. I'll get you some pain killers."

"Is a toothbrush something we could arrange?" he asked, grimacing. "My mouth tastes like ass."

Nick grinned, a little wolfishly. "Something you would know from experience?" he asked sweetly.

Harry's expression was as much of a _fuck-you_ as it could possibly be. "None of your sodding business," he replied agreeably and Nick laughed. "I'm starved. Did I even eat last night? I think you're supposed to feed me. And wake me up in the night to make sure I don't die. Or slip into a coma or something."

"I _did_ wake you up," Nick huffed. "You told me to piss off until the AM."

Harry paused in the process of getting to his feet. "I chose not to believe you."

"Of course you do." Nick's eyes met the ceiling and returned to the eggs he was cooking. "By the way, Niall just texted and told me he'd leave in twenty or so. I also told him to make sure you didn't just go to work, so he's taking you straight to your flat. My orders."

"Awesome," Harry grumbled, but was feeling mostly pleasant regardless of the awful taste in his mouth and the soreness of his muscles (and his head). He walked onto the tiled kitchen area, scratching at his stomach, and yawned. "Do I get to eat first? I refuse to leave without food."

Nick probably made a face, but he didn't turn away from the stove. "I'm glad you're alright."

"Nice non-sequitur."

They were both quiet for a while. When Nick finally turned around with plate of scrambled eggs, his jaw was tight. "I don't do the serious thing often, but you were bleeding when I found you. I didn't know what the fuck was wrong. You were barely coherent. So yeah, I'm glad you're okay. Fuckwit."

"Feeling the love," Harry managed, but he finally gave up and nodded. "I'm, um. Glad too. I'm glad too."

"I could beat the shit out of the guy who attacked you," Nick growled at last, rubbing his brow and sitting at the table. "I have never hated anyone more and hating people is my default setting."

"We're probably never going to know who it was," Harry said gently, curling in on himself ever so slightly. "I'm okay. That's what's important, right?"

Nick sighed heavily. "Yeah. Right. Just don't tell your mum because she's not going to look at it that way. Anne'll probably have an aneurism the moment she hears about this."

Harry winced. "We can just not tell her, right? Or Gemma? Because Gem will never let me forget it."

"No," Nick agreed with a small chuckle. "She definitely will not."

"Thank you, Nick. For letting me stay and y'know, not letting me die."

"I should have," Nick said, giving him a small smile. "But alas. You're welcome." He nudged Harry's shoulder. "Who knows, without those curls I might lose business after all." He grinned viciously. "Especially all those teen girls who come in just to flirt with you."

There was a knock on the door, interrupting what would have been Harry's snarky retort, and he sighed. "Don't consider this you getting the last word, Grimshaw."

"I always get the last word!"

Harry let Niall in with a pouty expression, though his friend's might have been even more sour. "I had to have an epic battle with Rita and Collette just to get up here. How the hell do you run such a tight ship, Grimshaw? You're a flake!"

"Shut the fuck up, Horan," Nick called, but his tone lacked heat. "Just get this sad sop out of here, will you?"

"I haven't finished my eggs yet," Harry argued, stubbornly sitting back down at the table. Niall sprawled out in another chair, looking vaguely unimpressed. "They're good eggs. What do you put in them?"

"Salt and pepper." Nick looked about as unimpressed as Niall. "You have two bites left. Do me a favor and eat and leave, okay? I want you at home, resting. For the next twenty-four hours. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, mum," he sighed, getting up to put his plate in the sink. "We're leaving."

"Good. And quit calling me mum! I am not your mother. Love her to bits, but honestly." Nick's grimace was almost funny.

"Yeah," he snorted. "I'll let her know you were so affronted by the thought of being her. She'll love that. And to think she thought you were such a _darling_." Nick glared at him viciously, but Harry's dimpled grin made him give it up and roll his eyes.

"Such a little shit, Styles," Nick sighed, sounding put-upon, but he nodded and waved amiably when they made their way to their door.

"Thanks for letting me stay, Nick," Harry called over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow night, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Niall was quiet on the way down the steps and outside to where Niall parked his own (non-stolen) rust bucket in the Grimmy's parking lot. That meant he was planning to have the rarest of the rare – a serious discussion – or was planning to give him shit. "So." Niall unlocked the car door with a serious expression, sliding inside. Harry followed with a frown. "You got your ass mugged?"

There was no way for Harry to tell how this conversation was going to go. "Erm… 's far as I can tell, yeah?"

"That piece of shit you call a car? That got stolen?"

"And fifty pounds."

"And all you got for it was a bump on the head."

"He took me by surprise," Harry grumbled. "I would've put up a fight or somethin' if I'd seen him coming." He slouched over, looking some mixture of sullen and chastised. "I remember he was short. And he had brown hair. And blue eyes."

"Blue eyes."

"Yeah," he said, nodding sheepishly. "Like, _really_ blue. Ocean blue."

Niall glanced over with a smirk. "Just how blue were this bloke's eyes again?"

Harry frowned in confusion. "I just told you. Blue. A really bright, sort of… pretty? Blue." Niall pulled onto the road, snorting, and Harry's eyebrows furrowed further.

"I find it hilarious that you can wax poetic about his guy's eye color, but you can't describe his face to me." Niall paused, then gave him a shit eating grin for half a second before his eyes returned to the road. "It's also fuckin' hilarious that this guy knocked you out and the most you have to say about him is that his eyes are a _really bright pretty blue_."

"Shut up, Niall," Harry grumbled. "Honestly. I don't really remember _that _well. I just caught his eyes in passing headlights. It was dark. They were all I really saw, other than his hair – and I only really noticed that because he was sitting in the bar before. All I could see of him was his hair."

"And was it nice hair?"

"Shut _up_, Niall." The Irish lad's laughter filled the car and Harry couldn't help but chuckle with him. "And for the record, it was nice hair, as far as I could tell."

* * *

"Thanks." Harry grinned at his friend, clutching his hamburger like a lifeboat. Greasy as hell and about the opposite of healthy, but remarkably satisfying. "I appreciate the food."

"Nick might kill me," Niall laughed. "Is bad food bad for a concussion? Are you even still concussed? I was supposed to take you straight home."

"What Nickie doesn't know won't kill him," Harry said cheerfully. "And I think I'll be okay with a hamburger – and I don't know? Am I still concussed?"

Niall parked in front of his apartment complex a town over from his childhood home, Holmes Chapel. "I don't really think so. I think? But I think some of the symptoms last for a while. At least, that's what Liam says, and I trust Liam more than I trust me." Harry snorted at that, waiting for Niall to unlock the door.

"You wanna come up?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. "Liam should actually be coming over later, around six. We can just hang out, play some FIFA."

"_I _have a date tonight," Niall told him, grinning. "So thanks, but no. I'll come over sometime later this week, okay? And tell Liam I said hi. And presumably Dani – they're back on, aren't they?"

"I think so," Harry agreed. "That's cool." Then he grinned. "Who, if I may ask, are you going out with?"

Niall glared at him. "None of your business." But Harry didn't move, raising his eyebrow even further. He let out a breath. "Look, he's just a bloke Andy knows. We're meeting up, going for dinner or something. I dunno, sounded like fun."

"A _bloke_?"

"I'm working things out." His glare could melt ice.

Harry raised his hands defensively. "All right, not judging. Have a nice time, yeah? Text me how it goes later."

Niall grinned a bit sheepishly, thawing. "Yeah. Will do. Get some rest, all right, mate? I know I was joking around before, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't spontaneously die."

He blinked. "I'd like that too."

"Later," Niall waved him off. "Have a fun day _relaxing_."

"I will," he answered. "Have a fun date!"

The minute the door was shut, Niall took off, flipping him the bird as he passed. Harry snickered to himself as he slipped inside, waving to his landlady from her window. "Rent's due next Wednesday, Harold," she told him without looking up from her trashy romance novel.

"I know, Mrs. O'Malley," he answered with a wince, making his break toward the elevator.

The doors slipped shut and he sighed a breath of relief. He honestly thought she might be an ax murderer, and she had a key to his flat. He shuddered as the lift jerked to life, rising slowly but steadily to the third floor.

Strangely, though, his head started to spin once they reached two, and by the time the door slid open on his floor, he was stumbling to get out. He slumped against the wall, unable to see straight, and curled into a little ball. He groaned lowly, starting to feel queasy as the floor spun under his weight.

"Hey! Are you all right?"

He managed to open his eyes only to close them and whine. "Not really," he choked. "Just feeling like the building just became a really shitty boat on a really rough ocean." For some reason, the guy's voice sounded really familiar – but he couldn't place where. It was one of the downfalls of working at a bar – he saw a lot of people come through, and if he didn't know them,

"Ooh," the guy said, the grimace obvious in his tone. "Come on, I'll help you up." He felt strong arms wrap around his waist, heaving him to his feet. "Which flat is yours?"

"3C," he answered, pausing as he waiting for the nausea to pass. "Okay, I think I'm mostly good now." The guy walked him over anyway and when Harry reached the door, he turned to thank him – only to be stunned into silence.

Harry might have been gay – _pansexual, _he still insisted, as he had no indication he didn't like girls as well; he had just never found one he was really attracted to – but even a straight man would be blown away by the guy standing in front of him. With artfully messy russet colored hair and a friendly smile, the stranger was easily the most attractive bloke he'd ever met. His eyes were blue – _why _did that strike such a chord? Did he just have a weird obsession with blue eyes – and he was shorter than Harry by an inch or two. He was compact, with lovely curves and small proportions. He was almost convinced a tiny angel had helped him over to the door of his flat.

"'M Harry," he said dumbly.

The guy looked a bit shocked himself, and at Harry's words his smile twitched, almost faltering for some reason, before it was pasted back on. Oddly, it seemed a bit forced. "I'm…" He paused before seeming to steel himself. "Louis Tomlinson, at your service."

Harry gave him a chuckle and his smile eased a bit. "Did you just move in? I don't think I've ever seen you before – I'm positive I would remember if I had."

He could hit himself. Really? Two seconds into a conversation and he was already flirting? One of these days, his uncontrollable mouth was going to get him into trouble and he would only have himself to blame.

Louis laughed, though, seeming even more surprised. "Yeah, I think you might," he said with a cheeky grin, his eyes warming. "You okay, though? That was a weird place to be having a dizzy spell. You don't have some crazy brain condition or summat?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "Just a concussion. Got knocked out last night." He made a vague gesture, wincing when Louis looked a little taken aback at his words. "Sorry, that might have been a little weird to just – sorry." He blushed fiercely. "I'm just gonna – yeah, I'm gonna go inside." He hesitated. "Unless you'd like to come in for tea or somethin'? Get to know each other?" When Louis blinked, he hurried to add, "Neighbor to neighbor, right?"

It was quiet for a couple seconds. "I'm not sure, I've got…" Louis sighed, throwing his hands up. "Who am I kidding? Yeah, sure. Tea sounds lovely." He might even have been blushing a bit himself.

Harry grinned, feeling victorious and just a little bit giggly now that he was done feeling like he was going to puke, and opened the door. He stepped in and gestured for Louis to follow. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess," he told him apologetically. "Haven't really cleaned much. I usually save that for when my sister comes over just so I don't have to listen to her complain."

Louis laughed and Harry might have paused for a second just to listen to the sound of it. Tinkling fairy laughter. This man was going to be the death of him. "How old are you?" he asked, laughter dying down. "You look a little young to be living all alone."

"It's the dimples," Harry agreed sagely. "'M twenty-one, though. Perfectly legal, and definitely old enough. I work at a bar, actually. In Holmes Chapel? Grimmy's."

"Been there," Louis told him, and his smile was forced again. "Nice place. Think I got groped in the bathroom once."

His words startled a laugh out of Harry as he made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He managed not to trip over a shirt on the floor, picking it up and tossing it in the general area of his bedroom. He'd get his mum to pick him up so he could go to her house and do his laundry eventually. "What kind of tea do you want?" he asked, glancing over at the boy standing in the doorway to his kitchen, looking simultaneously at home and uncomfortable. "I have chamomile, peppermint… earl grey, I think –" He dug around in the pantry, ah-hahing when he found a box in the very back.

"Peppermint sounds lovely," Louis told him, coming closer hesitantly. "Very domestic, this is. You do this often?"

Harry grinned at him. "Invite total strangers into my flat?"

Louis grinned back, relaxing. "It seems like a thing a boy like you would do. All those curls must be covering up your head full of air."

"Hey!" Harry protested, but when Louis cackled at his reaction he gave up and laughed with him. "All right, if you're so smart, I could have been a serial killer or something. How do you know I'm not going to lock you in my bedroom and keep you here?"

"Kinky," was the only response and Harry snickered, relenting. He could admit it when he met a sass master of higher skill than he.

They chatted lightly, sitting at Harry's kitchen table with their tea. Harry learned that Louis sang a bit, acted a bit more, and used a momentous amount of product on his hair. Likewise, Louis learned that Harry was an abysmal baker in spite of his years working at the town bakery as a teen, he also sang, and that he slept in the nude (though he swore up and down that Louis had used Jedi mind tricks to get that information out of him).

"It's been fun," Louis said with a smile, small and warm and just for him. "I'll drop by again sometime – if that's okay? I had a good time."

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding eagerly, then blushed and tried to tone down his enthusiasm. "I mean, sure. If you want."

Louis grinned, and leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. "See ya later, curly."

"Bye, Louis," he said, pretending that Louis's grin didn't widen because he caught onto him sounding like a fourteen year old girl with a crush.

When the door shut behind the shorter boy, he sighed his way to the living room and collapsed on the floor. He was _so fucked_.

When Liam walked in at half four, he paused in the entrance to the living room.

"Why are you watching telly on the floor?" He sounded perplexed. "There's a perfectly good couch and an armchair right behind you. Didn't you just get hurt? Niall texted me that you've got a concussion. Did you fall?"

"I met a boy," he mumbled into the carpet. He'd managed to grab the remote, but other than that found no will to move – even though he really had to piss and figured he should probably get up. "He's a pretty boy."

"Did you." Liam's tone was amused.

"We had tea, and it was lovely."

"The tea or the boy?" he asked, eyebrow arched.

"_Both_."

Liam sat down on the couch and grinned at him, that puppy look that made everyone spill their secrets. "All right, mate. Sit here and tell me all about him. And what happened to you last night," he added as an afterthought.

Harry grinned, dimples out in full force, and hauled himself up to sit next to his friend.

**A/N: This is the fastest I've ever updated since that Kuroshitsuji fic I wrote in 2010, so feel lucky. Also, fifty points (which don't matter at all but I just like to issue contests with no point) to the person who can guess who Niall's on a date with. :P**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's weird just how well this story is flowing from my head to written chapter. Count yourselves lucky, and pray that my inspiration lasts so this stays as easy as it is now.**

**Edit, a week later: I **_**lied**_**. And musical practices have started up so I have zero time along with the two papers I have to write and this project or that project… I just **_**gah**_**. I will keep writing though. Promise I won't abandon this.**

"_What do you mean you have a date!?_"

Louis' frantic screech echoed throughout his mostly empty flat and he pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it in disbelief. "_I mean I have a date in like, two hours," _Zayn replied sourly. "_Don't sound so surprised. I date_."

"You haven't _dated_ since Perrie's band started getting more attention and she kissed you goodbye to move to London!" he said accusingly. "And now you're going on some date with someone you don't even know?"

"_Who says I don't know him?_"

"First of all, I've not heard of anyone you've been thinking of dating recently. Second, what do you mean_ him_?"

"_Jesus! Would you quit squealing in my ear? You know, a bloke. Someone who generally goes by the pronoun 'him.' It was Andy's idea. Said he had a friend I might like if I was willing to branch out. I figured, why not?"_

Louis felt like his world was caving in. "We can't have two gay ones in this friendship! I'm the token gay guy!" He paused. "Am I? Or is that not a thing?" Zayn sighed heavily from the other end. "Never mind that. Look, I just… I've fucked up. And I needed your help. That's why I called, and why you can't go on a blind date tonight because I need you."

"_And this isn't something I could coach you through while I look for my good boots?"_

Louis scowled. "I just moved into the same building as the guy I mugged last night, and we had tea, and I'm pretty sure he's starting to fancy me, only he doesn't know I stole his car."

Radio silence.

"I told you I needed help," he muttered pathetically, messing with the hem of his shirt as he sat heavily on his sofa.

"_I told you that this gig of yours would get you in deep shit," _Zayn said finally after a few minutes of quiet. "_Granted, I didn't think it would be for this reason, but I told you. How the hell did this even happen, Louis? You don't hit on guys you steal from – I'm not even in the business and I've gathered it's a bad idea."_

"Who says I hit on him?" he asked, frowning. "He could have hit on me, easily."

"_Lou, don't take this the wrong way, but you wouldn't be whining about this if you didn't like this guy back, and we both know that if you even think someone is cute, you flirt with them. You're flirty by nature. It's just that this one actually – and inconveniently for you – likes you back."_

"He's cute," he sighed in defeat. "Green eyes, curly hair. Taller than me, and lanky. He's honestly the most adorable kid I've come across since like, primary school."

"_What's his name?"_

"Harry," he told him. "He has _dimples_, Zayn."

"_What a dilemma._" Damn him, Zayn sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Asshole. "_Look, Louis, I don't really know what to tell you. Do you like him?"_

"You mean do I _fancy_ him? No. I could, though, and that's what freaks me out. If I spend more time with him I'm going to be in very real danger of genuinely _liking _him, and I can't do that because I stole his car and how do you come back from that? It's like telling a bloke you have chlamydia. It's not even a game changer – it's a game ender."

"_Well_." Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it."_You probably should have thought of that before you stole his car?"_

"I'm hanging up on you, Zayn."

"_Have nice night, Louis. Try not to steal any more cars for a while?"_

"Fuck off. Have fun on your date or whatever."

"_I will. And Lou?"_

He sighed, put-upon. "Yes, Malik?"

"_Try not to stress about it._"

Louis let out a heavy breath. "Yeah, I'll make an attempt," he grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Call me after to tell me how it goes, asshole."

"_Will do_," Zayn chuckled. "_Bye_."

"Bye," he grumbled, hanging up. He threw himself onto the couch, debating whether he wanted to throw his phone or sit around on twitter. In the end, he tossed it to the other end of the couch and sprawled out, hanging his head over the arm. "I hate my life."

Predictably, no one answered.

* * *

"_- just want your extra time and your -_"

Louis paused, lips still pursed, hearing a chuckling behind him. He immediately soured, spinning to face a (nearly) silently laughing Zayn.

"I don't need your judgment, Malik," he said loftily, cocking a hip out and glaring him down. "If you're just going to stand there and laugh at me I'm going to kick you out. I told you to call me, not show up unannounced, anyway."

"Or," Zayn said, his voice squeaky with his giggles. "You could put some trousers on and quit dancing around your living room in your pants?" Louis narrowed his eyes further and sat himself in an armchair defiantly. "Or not, whatever. Not my problem."

"You're quite right. It is not."

"My," he drawled drily. "What a catch you are. This boy of yours must be damn lucky." He sat down onto the couch, relaxing into the cushions. "Tell me about him."

"Nice segue," Louis snickered. "But you're not getting out of telling me about _your_ boy. Tell me about this date of yours. Call it payback for making fun of my evening rehearsal of my mating call." Zayn choked, seemingly unsure of whether he wanted to laugh or snort disbelievingly.

"First of all, you are so full of shit. Second, I'm not sure what you want to know."

Louis sighed heavily, sending Zayn a disbelieving look. "Was he _cute_? Did he like you? Did you kiss? Do I know him?"

"Yes. I hope so? No. I don't think so," he answered, almost as quickly as Louis threw the questions out. "I mean, you know I haven't dated many blokes – but, I don't know, we hit it off. We got on, really well." He grinned toothily, blushing high on his (ridiculous) cheekbones. "Went out, had a pint – he insisted that his favourite things in the worlds are pints, by the way, you'll get on fabulously – and we just had a good time."

"But you didn't kiss?"

"No, Louis," he sighed, exasperated. "We didn't kiss. You already asked that."

"Well, you should have."

One of Zayn's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Do you want to chaperone our next date to make sure it goes how you want?"

"I kind of do –"

"Not in a _million _years, Louis." He gave his friend a sour look. "Now, I've told you about my date. Why don't you tell me about yours?"

"It wasn't a date and that barely counts as telling me anything. That was a brief overview."

"But you're dying to tell me about it anyway, aren't you?" Louis's glare was venomous. "His name was what… Henry?"

"Harry!" Louis corrected, affronted. "Harry Styles! Not stupid – _Henry _is so stiff and pretentious! He's not a bloody prince of England."

"Harry _is _the name of one of the –"

"Don't say it. You understood my point, you sod."

Zayn snickered. "So tell me what he is like, then, if he's not _actually _Prince Harry."

Louis gave another exaggerated sigh. "He's like… sunshine. And daisies. Curly hair and green eyes and…"

"Maybe something more than the description you gifted me with when you called earlier?"

"I'm sure he has a nice long cock." Zayn made a face at his deadpan. "I don't know – he's just _good_, okay? He's sweet and invited me in for tea. And he has dimples more insane than your cheekbones," he added with a grin last minute. "Even his _name _is perfect. I mean, _Harry Styles_?"

"He sounds loveable," Zayn told him, smiling faintly. "Someone you just want to take under your wing and take care of him."

"He _i_s. And polite and gentle and all that, y'know? Cheeky, too, but in a dumb way. And it's weird, because we hit it off right away, but he's just so charming. It's impossible not to like him." Louis paused and added lowly, "He's great, Zayn, and I gave him a _concussion, _Zayn. This darling boy and I gave him a concussion and stole his car." He rubbed at his face wearily, his expression ashamed. "I mean, no, I didn't think being a fucking _thief_ would be easy, but…" He trailed off, voice tight.

"He sounds lovely," Zayn offered softly. "There isn't much I can really do here, Lou. I wish I knew what to say – you could always stop stealing cars?"

"And what does that do about the car I already _stole_?" His voice went surprisingly shrill.

"I told you to stop shrieking at me," Zayn hissed with a grimace, covering his ears. "Your voice gets really obnoxious anywhere over an A on the treble staff."

"Fuck off," Louis grumbled, but he didn't say anything further. Silence reigned for a few minutes.

"Look, Louis," Zayn sighed finally. "You can either tell him the truth, lie to him, or stay away from him. I hate that you're in this position but I _told _you this would happen one day."

"I know that." They stared each other down before Louis' blue eyes glanced down to his lap. "I am ashamed of myself, okay? I do understand. I just – I can't just pretend he doesn't exist. And I can't come out and just tell him I mugged him and stole his car."

"Well, you could, but he'd either kick you out of his apartment or demand you get it back. And then kick you out of his apartment." Louis glared at him and he winced. "What do you want me to say, Louis? Do you want me to lie and tell you it'll be fine? Because it won't. It's not just going to be easy and fine and I'm pretty sure you've known this boy for all of _a few hours_. You've only spent what, twenty minutes with the lad? Why are you panicking?"

"Because _what if_, Zayn!" Louis hissed, but Zayn gave him a stern look.

"No, Louis. You know what you're going to do? You're going to deal. You're going to see if this even _goes _anywhere, then you freak out about it. All right?"

Louis opened his mouth to argue and shut it again when Zayn's expression turned venomous.

"Good." He let out a sigh. "Honestly, Lou, you'd think that you actively try to complicate things."

"Sometimes it feels like it," he said glumly. "I just _want _something to happen, I think. I'm not good at being single, Z, and under any other circumstances I would be really excited about meeting Harry." He shrugged. "I just don't know how I get myself into these messes. I'd like to, but I don't."

"I'd like to know, too, since I usually end up your therapist," Zayn teased and Louis rolled his eyes.

"Oh, fuck off, or I'll kick you out and hang out with Stan instead," Louis groused but his friend laughed him off.

"You know I'm right," he said smugly, but he leaned forward, reaching out to pat Louis on the knee. "Honestly, just put on some telly, okay? Relax tonight, panic later."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Fine." He did as he was bid and got up, stretching as he went, to pull on some sweats. "Make yourself at home, I'm going to put some tea on, yeah? Unless you want something else?"

"Did you already have tea with your not-prince today?"

"You can never have enough tea, Zayn, honestly. Do you want some or not?" He put his hands on his hips and frowned.

Zayn waved him off. "Yeah, I was just giving you shit. Go put the damn kettle on – and put some pants on, while you're at it," he chuckled, grinning.

Louis rolled his eyes, sauntering into his bedroom to grab a pair of sweats from on top of his bed. He tugged them on and made his way to the kitchen. He put the kettle on and leaned against a counter, sighing. He knew he was being overly dramatic about everything, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying. In his profession, worrying was all he did. Still, Zayn was right – he need to take a breather and calm down about it.

He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, waiting patiently for the water to boil before pulling it off the burner and pouring two glasses. He opened the cupboard and frowned – it was mostly empty. He really needed to go shopping, but he found a box of Yorkshire in the back and set it out.

"Here," he announced, handing Zayn his tea as he settled on the couch next to him. "Still hot, so try not to burn yourself, yeah?"

"Because out of the two of us I'm the one who makes a big deal about being burnt," Zayn snorted and Louis rolled his eyes, nudging him with his elbow.

They watched some stupid show neither of them recognized for hours. It was mindless and by the time Zayn yawned and stretched, making to leave, Louis was sure that his brain was well on its way to leaking out through his ears.

"It's late, mate; I need to go home," Zayn announced. He sounded as tired as Louis felt and he lamented, missing the days when he could sit around until four in the morning without feeling even vaguely tired. "You going to be okay here? I don't want to leave you alone if you still feel distraught or something." Despite the light teasing, Louis just smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he said, waving his friend off. "Go home. I'm just going to crash, I think. It's been a long day."

"Hell yeah it has," Zayn agreed with a laugh. "Go to sleep. I'll steal you tomorrow for lunch or something. You don't have anything going on, right?"

"Not that I can think of. Call me when you know what we're doing." He walked with Zayn to the door. "Later. Drive semi-safely, all right?"

"Yeah, I'll make an effort not to die," he chuckled. "Bye!"

Louis called his own goodbye after him, only to lean out the door when he heard another voice say goodbye as well. Perplexed, he sent his gaze down the hallway.

"Louis!"

He stepped out, turning a bit pink. Zayn, a few steps down the hall, was paused, eyebrows raised. "Oh," he said weakly. "Hey, Harry." Zayn's eyebrows shot up further, expression plainly shocked.

A dark-haired boy with brown eyes and a kind face was just a few feet away from where Harry was leaning out of his own doorway, a less mocking version of Zayn. It had to be at least eleven but Harry looked bright eyed and far more awake than Louis felt.

Then the boy with Harry was turning back to him with a mirror of Zayn's own expression and both Louis and Harry blushed. It was obvious they'd both been having boy talks with their respective friends. "Hey, Louis," the curly-haired boy returned weakly, and they chuckled uncomfortably. Almost in unison, Zayn and Harry's friend laughed.

"All right, H, I'm gonna get home," the brown-haired boy said good-naturedly, a hint of laughter in his tone.

"Yeah," Harry giggled, sounding embarrassed. "See you later, Liam."

"Same," Zayn said, winking at Louis. "I'll probably pick you up around half past eleven tomorrow, yeah? For lunch."

"All right," he agreed faintly, and both Louis' friend and Harry's tromped off toward the elevator.

"That your boyfriend?" Harry asked casually, sounding a bit too disappointed to be effectively nonchalant, when both Liam and Zayn were chatting amiably behind the closing doors to the lift. "He's kind of unrealistically attractive." He chuckled nervously.

Louis grinned, his butterflies easing a bit. "Yeah, he's my best mate. What about your attractive friend? Liam? You two together?"

"Nah," Harry laughed. "Point taken. He's one of mine, but not romantic at all. He's actually in an off and on relationship with a dancer. Met her when he tried out for X-Factor."

"That's interesting," Louis said with a nod of the head. He smiled a little impishly. "So, it's established that we're both single. And not interested in our hot friends."

Harry nodded, his own smile growing to show his dimples. Louis was growing incredibly fond of them. "Very not interested. But, you know," here he giggled again, embarrassment shining through once more, "hot neighbors are still sort of on the table as far as I'm concerned. If that's, you know, a thing."

"You say 'you know' a lot," Louis answered dumbly, deflecting for no reason more than the nearly painful thumping of his heart, and the blush coating his cheeks. He was nervous and he knew it was a bad idea, but at the fall of Harry's face he quickly added, "but other than that, yeah, I think hot neighbors are on the table."

Harry's grin brightened again. "Excellent. Yeah, just – awesome. So, I'm going to go in, pretend this isn't the most humiliating conversation I've ever had, and then we can run into each other and operate on the knowledge that hot neighbors are a thing. Then maybe set up a date or something and I'm rambling." His cheeks were florescent pink, but he grinned anyway, looking pleased at having gotten the words out.

"I think we can do that," Louis agreed. He thought his cheeks would crack from smiling so widely, hapless and stupidly excited. "I'll see _you _sometime soon, too, all right? And we'll plan that date."

"Good idea," Harry agreed, and smiled at Louis again before ducking back into his apartment. He went back into his own, closing and locking the door behind him with that stupid smile on his face.

He was _so screwed._


End file.
